


Valentine's Fic Challenge 2014

by Xyriath



Category: Assassin's Creed, Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), New Warriors, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day, Waxplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of the prompts I received and their fills for Valentine's Day 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shaun Hastings/Desmond Miles

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Shaun and Desmond, first valentines day after AC3 (Desmond lives) gets ruined. Shaun planned awesome things.

The pan roasted duck had nearly caught fire, the candles were melted down three-quarters and two-thirds of the way (respectively), seven people were dead after the Templars had made their biggest grab for power yet, and Shaun Hastings, British supremacist extraordinaire, had burned his tea. 

He hadn't even known that you _could_ burn tea.  Make a bad cup or even pot of it, perhaps, but _burn_ it?  The candles had been a drastically poor idea, definitely, but since he had already gone through the trouble, he might as well leave them, even if they had caused the death of his last box of Tetley. 

He was almost glad that Desmond wasn't home, he thought, as he swept the charred remains of the box off the countertop and into the rubbish bin.  The idiot would never let him live it down.  Almost, he thought, as he rinsed the ashes off of shaking hands, resolutely ignoring the tremors and scrubbing with the dish soap until the sink was full of bubbles.

" _Police have not released any information about whether or not they have found the person responsible, but reports indicate at least one person was killed by police fire, and another has been taken into custody._ " 

Shaun whirled, hands scrambling for the remote, heedless of the water spattering everywhere, and jammed the mute button.  His finger twitched as if to hit the power as well, but he remained where he was, entranced by the headline.

_Seven confirmed dead in fundraising massacre…_

He jerked his head away, focusing instead on seeing what he could salvage of the duck.  After realizing that the answer was "Nothing that even the stray cats would eat," he sighed and shoved it into a corner, glaring at it reproachfully before heading over to the cabinet for more tea—and promptly realizing that he had just burned the last package, and the only thing left was that Lipton shit that Shaun wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. 

"Disgusting," he muttered as he let the cabinet door swing shut.  And now he didn't even have tea to go with this disaster of a dinner. 

Shaun took a deep breath.  Two months.  That immature child couldn't go _two bloody months_ without putting his life in dire peril, and after the last time— 

He sucked in another breath, noticing somewhere in the back of his mind how remarkable it was that his lungs still felt completely empty.  _Last time._   If Desmond had survived the end of the world just to get taken down by _this_ … 

And he was late.  So damned late.  And Shaun was just sitting there, _useless_ , not even able to cook— 

A noise at the back door.  Shaun's mouth went dry, hands scrambling for the gun that he knew Desmond kept in the back of one of the cabinets.  But which one?  Certainly not that— 

The door opened.  Shaun whirled, carving knife in hand, before he recognized the familiar white silhouette stepping through the doorway. 

"Not exactly a hidden blade, is it?" 

Shaun dropped the carving knife as if the words had stung him, frozen spell broken, and marched up to him. 

"You absolute _arse!_ " he snapped, punching Desmond in the shoulder.  All the assassin training in the world apparently couldn't protect him from Shaun's ire—or perhaps he simply knew better than to try to avoid it.  He winced a little as Shaun punched him again, but didn't try too hard to avoid it, simply turned to set aside the box he was holding.  Shaun was too angry to pay any attention to it.  "Do you have _any_ idea what I've been doing for the past four hours?" 

"Uh… cooking?" 

Shaun pointed in mute fury to the television, which, while equally as silent, had a headline emblazoned across it.  Desmond winced when he saw the current story of interest. 

"Oh.  That."

"Yes, that.  I'm not stupid, Desmond, though I'm beginning to suspect that I'm the only one of the two of us.  That has Assassin fingerprints all over it, and when I heard they had—when you didn't even _call_ —"

"Hey, I did call you.  Let you know that I'd be late." 

"'A quick side trip for the Brotherhood.'  'I might be late, but it's nothing to worry about.'"  Shaun's voice was icy.  "That was not nearly enough, Desmond." 

"I… didn't really want you to worry."  The way Desmond's voice trailed off at the end, he realized how lame of an excuse it sounded. 

"I'm not a child."  Shaun suddenly felt very tired.  "If there's bad news to be had, or something I should know, I'd rather you just told me." 

Their eyes met, and the silence stretched across the kitchen for a few tense moments before Desmond's shoulders sagged slightly. 

"You're right.  I'm sorry." 

Shaun wanted to continue glaring, but the sincerity in Desmond's voice tugged at him.  He glanced away for a moment, taking it to order his thoughts, before looking back at Desmond. 

The idiot had the most adorably sheepish expression on his face, and his arms were spread slightly as if for a hug.  What an arse. 

Shaun took a few steps forward, into those arms, and felt them fold around his waist.  He reciprocated, hesitating just a moment before burying his face in the front of Desmond's hoodie.  It was Valentine's, after all. 

It was a few moments before the unpleasant, coppery smell assaulted his nose. 

"What—oh _god!_ "  Shaun jerked back, staring at the large red splotch on the front of Desmond's hoodie in horror.  "You're bleeding—Christ, Desmond, we have to get you to—" 

"Hey, hey.  Calm down."  A reassuring hand squeezed Shaun's shoulder.  "It isn't mine.  Don't worry.  Here."  Desmond grabbed the bottom of his hoodie and tugged it off.  Shaun was too distracted even to appreciate the strip of dark skin that appeared between the waistband of his jeans and the shirt underneath.  Shaun's eyes focused only on the spot where the patch of blood on the hoodie had been. 

A few splotches were there, but it was clearly where the blood above had bled through.  Shaun sighed in relief, then stepped forward again, yanking Desmond down for a kiss. 

It lasted several moments, though not enough, in Shaun's opinion, before Desmond pulled back, smiling down at him, then glancing around the kitchen. 

"So, dinner, was it?" 

"Yes, well."  Shaun couldn't keep the annoyance out of his short reply.  "I'm afraid that after I turned on the news, I found it rather hard to concentrate—" 

"Actually, when we were on the phone before that, I thought I heard the fire alarm going off." 

"That had nothing to do with it!  The _point_ is, I'm afraid that there isn't anything and it is completely your fault." 

Desmond chuckled.  _Chuckled._   Shaun didn't know what he saw in the man; the _nerve_ he had sometimes.

"Well, lucky for you, I took precautions in case of disaster." 

"A trait I wish you'd adapt into _any_ other aspect of your life besides—is that pizza?"  Shaun stared in half relief, half dismay. 

"Just in case."  Desmond lifted the box with a grin, revealing pepperoni arranged in the shape of a heart. 

"You're—that—I have no idea what to do with you," Shaun said, shaking his head and doing his best not to smile.  He failed, for the most part. 

"I can think of a few things."  Desmond kept his voice innocent, but the smirk on his face said otherwise. 

"Oh, no.  I don't think so."  Shaun yanked the pizza box from his hands and marched towards the living room.  "You're going to need to do a lot of groveling before you even get to think about coming upstairs, let alone sleeping in the same bed as me.  Now grab me a Sprite." 

"What, no tea?" 

"It... burned" 

"Wait, how do you burn tea?  I mean, drowning it might not be your thing, but—" 

"Shut up and don't even _think_ about making jokes about American history.  You're no good at them.  Now get me the Sprite.  And blow out the candles."  He heard Desmond oblige, and plucked the remote from behind him on the counter, changing the input to the television.  Desmond had exactly two movies' time to make it up to him. 

Shaun caught himself hoping that it only took one.


	2. George/Winona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: George and Winona, candles, and hot wax. Three sentence fic request.
> 
> (Wax used for waxplay is specially designed--don't use standard candles for waxplay, kids.)

Winona's eyes swept over the sight, lips curving up as George tugged her further into his quarters—perfect, everything was completely perfect, everything from the lobster tail set artfully on the plates, to the soft sound of piano playing in the background, to the light flickering softly from the candles and reflecting in his brilliant eyes as she turned into him to give him a long, lingering kiss.

Winona smirked at the way the candlelight shone softly on the silk blindfold, smirked at the way George's muscles rippled underneath his skin as he tugged against the restraints—though she had to admit, it was much more attractive when he jerked involuntarily every time the colored wax splashed against his skin; she almost felt sorry for him, she reflected as she switched to another color and watched it drip onto the sharp muscles of his abdomen, but he had been the one focusing too closely on the way the lace of her bra met the curve of her breasts—and even tonight, he had to earn that.

Winona gasped as she rocked forward, George's fingers digging into her ass as her nails dug into his shoulders; she shuddered as his hands slid up her waist and buried themselves in her hair, crying out as George pushed himself up to kiss her fiercely, wrapping her thighs tightly around him as they tangled together, limbs and breath and hearts intertwined.


	3. Tim Drake/Kon-El

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: TimKon, Kon embarrassing Tim by serenading him for Valentine's Day.

" _I've tried playing it cool, but when I'm looking at you—_ "

Tim jumped, nearly spilling his coffee on the keyboard, as he whirled to look out his window.  Unfortunately, Jason, who had decided that the commotion happening outside of Tim's penthouse was far more interesting than watching Tim crack the encryption on some confiscated files, turned to look as well.

"— _I can't ever be brave, 'cause you make my heart race!_ "

"Is that your…" Jason began, with a smirk on his smug and obnoxious face.

"Shut up, Todd," Tim snapped through gritted teeth.

" _Shot me out of the sky!  You're my Kryptonite!_ "

"Is he singing One Direction?"

"I wouldn't know—how do _you_ — _?_ "

Tim was now regretting allowing outside access to his penthouse at all as Conner pushed open the window and flew in.

" _You keep making me weak, yeah, frozen and can't breathe!_ "

"You—stop that noise, _right now_ ," Tim snapped, face the approximate shade of the "S" on Kon's t-shirt.

"But you're his _Kryptonite_ , Tim.  You've got that _one thing_ —"

Tim suddenly found himself wishing very hard for a crowbar.  "And _you_ , Todd, out.  I'll get you your crap later, if you keep your fat mouth shut."  Jason wasn't that hard to shove towards the door, which meant that he was _letting_ Tim, the patronizing bastard, and it just made Tim angrier.

"But _babybird_ —"

" _Out!_ "  Tim slammed the door behind Jason and whirled, prepared to deliver a very thorough tongue-lashing, but suddenly got a faceful of half-Kryptonian delivering a rather sloppy and underwhelming kiss.

"Mmph!" was all Tim got out, shoving him away and glaring, trying to ignore the shit-eating grin on his face.  "Really?  _Really?_ "

"I see.  You don't appreciate my singing.  Well, not everyone has taste."

"You're right.  You don't."  Tim glared at him as Kon slung an arm around his shoulder, but his expression softened a bit when Kon pressed a kiss to his temple—softer, this time, and gentler.

"All right, all right.  I'm sorry for singing, and I'm sorry for embarrassing you in front of your brother."

" _Don't_ call him that," Tim grumbled.  Connor continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"But you've been cooped up in here all day.  _Today_.  On _Valentine's_ Day.  Let me take you out for dinner.  My treat."

"Kon."  Tim's voice was dry.  "I have access to the funds of a multibillion dollar corporation.  I don't need you to pay for my food."

"Yeah, I know, but I'd _like_ to."

Tim squinted up at him, expecting a smirk, but Kon's expression was almost… earnest.  Hopeful.  He caught himself smiling back after just a few moments.

"Yeah.  I guess we can do that."

"Really?"  Kon had never resembled Krypto so much in that moment, the way he had just perked up.

"Really.  But," he continued, cutting off whatever reply Kon was about to make and holding up a finger.  "On one condition."

"Yeah?"

"You never, ever, _ever_ sing that… One Direction stuff at me again."

Kon laughed, leaning in.  Though Tim's finger initially blocked the space between the two of them, Tim sighed and dropped it, allowing Kon to lean in and kiss him in a much more practiced fashion than the first time.

"Promise."


	4. Robbie/Vance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you could write something Vance/Robbie for me that’s a little bittersweet (but mostly sweet) it would mean a lot. Prompt? Ummm, first valentines as a couple?"

Valentine's Day was fairly low-key this year.  Due to mutual, near-unspoken agreement about the pressure of their first Valentine's together—and their first together without the team—the both of them had decided that zombie movies and Chinese takeout were the way to go.  And Vance was more than relieved, he realized—he was perfectly content.

Robbie was curled up underneath his arm as they sorted through the selections.  Robbie was angling for Zombieland, but Vance wasn't quite feeling it.  He set aside Twenty-Eight Days Later and Boy Eats Girl, then paused at the scuffed DVD below it.

"That," Robbie proclaimed at the cover featuring several examples of bad prosthetics, "is a _terrible_ movie."

"It really is."  Vance stared down at the bright red lettering proclaiming, _Fearsome Night of the Unliving!_   "Want to watch it?"

"Absolutely."

Vance grinned and popped open the DVD case, and the disc sailed through the air and into the open player.  Within a few minutes, the familiar, badly synthesized opening music filtered through the speakers.

"God," Robbie said with a laugh.  "Remember when we used to watch this at the crash pad?"

"Sort of.  Thrash _hated_ it."

There was a noticeable silence as they both took a deep breath, realizing what Vance had said.  Vance hadn't even noticed, not until right then.

"He did.  _I_ always thought it just freaked him out a bit too much."

"Well, we deal—we'd dealt with weirder.  Somehow I don't think that bothered him much."

"Then you didn't pay much attention, did you, Supertights?"  Vance felt the elbow in his side.  "I'm telling you, it freaked the guy out."

"If you say so, Robbie."

He felt the chuckle beside him and shook his head.  They watched in silence, laughing at the camp and munching on noodles, until about twenty minutes later—

"Hey, Vance?"

The tone in Robbie's voice had him on edge immediately.  "Yes?"

"Do you ever wonder—I mean, maybe, if I had—"

"No."  Vance kept his voice firm.

"No?  But you don't even—"

"I can take a guess."  It might have been low-key, but today was Valentine's, and he was going to make damn sure that Robbie enjoyed it.  "Don't.  You've earned the right to enjoy yourself tonight, and don't let anyone, including yourself, tell you otherwise."

Robbie was silent for a moment.  "You really think that?"

Vance's reply was instant.  "You know I do."

"I—yeah."

He didn't say anything further, seemed to be distracted by the melodramatic screams on the television, but Vance could feel him curl against his side.

And if he held Robbie a little more tightly, well, so much for the better.


	5. Jim Kirk/Leonard McCoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: McKirk - Jim going planet to planet to find the perfect gift~
> 
> Prompt: How bout Jim plans a surprise moonlit picnic for bones back in riverside, (I'm going on the assumption that Iowa is somewhat prairie like, because we are here) and um... idk I've just always found cuddling under the stars the best thing ever

"A weekend off to do sexy things of his choosing."

"Sex toys?"

"A back rub."

Jim stared at them all.   "Are you guys seri—"

"Could get an electric collar for Jim."  Scotty wasn't even looking at him now.

"Jim to behave for a day."  _None_ of them were.

"I was thinking—a leash for Jim."

"And not the kinky kind."

"The child harness ones?"

"Maybe the kinky kind too."

 "You all are the worst crew and I'm never asking _any_ of you for advice ever again."

"Well, excuse me!" Gaila called after him as he stalked back to the turbolift.  "Maybe _he'd_ prefer the kinky kind of leash instead!" 

Jim locked his fingers behind his head as the turbolift zipped upwards.  If someone had told him three years ago that he would be fretting himself silly over the perfect Valentine's gift enough to detour from _planet to planet_ , he would have laughed in their face. 

Back then, however, he wasn't nearly as focused on impressing Leonard McCoy. 

And, well, when some of the crew had confronted him about the mysterious trips, instead of berating him for abusing his power as captain, they had _laughed._   Laughed, and tried to help—or, at least, presented a parody of trying.  In a way—no, not in a way; it was completely, utterly, 100% worse.

And Jim was still without a gift.

He flopped back on his bed and bit his lip as he looked out the window set into the ceiling of his quarters, staring up into the stars.  Bones had hated them, at first, been terrified, but he had braved them anyway.

For Jim.

It wasn't the first time the realization of Bones's dedication hit him hard, but it always took his breath away.

Bones didn't hate them anymore.  Fear them, maybe, a bit, but it was tempered with an awe and respect.  Still, Jim knew that he missed having solid earth under his feet.

As naturally as if he had opened a book, intending to find the answer, and read it written on the page, the solution came to him.

He released his lip from between his teeth, and it curved up in a smile.

—

"Jim, I've been waiting almost a damned hour; you could at least tell me what you're plannin'!"

"I know, I know!  It's almost ready.  Five more minutes.  I promise.  You dressed?"

"Finally.  No thanks to you."

Jim had to laugh at that.  But hey, he had had to distract him from the preparations being made _somehow_ , and keeping him in bed for the majority of the day seemed to be the best course of action.  Neither of them had objected particularly much, and Leonard hadn't even suspected anything until about an hour ago.

He heard the knock on his door and grabbed Bones's hand, mittened as his own was.  "All right!  We're ready!"

"This had better not be Delta Vega."

"It isn't.  Come on."  They were in the transporter room now, Scotty watching for Jim's signal.  At his nod, the man pressed the button, the golden beams wrapping around them.

They materialized right as the sun was dipping past the horizon, leaving them in light that was quickly fading.  Scotty had put them down within yards of the campsite, so Jim dragged him over, laughing, and watched him take in the sight of the meal before him.

"Welcome to Riverside, Bones."

"It's beautiful, kid."  Leonard's voice sounded a little choked up as Jim slid an arm around his waist, both of them staring across the grassy plains, color turned dusky with the fading light of day and the rising moon.

—

The dinner was warm and delicious, painstakingly chosen from a list of things Leonard loved and would be acceptable on a picnic in the middle of February.  Afterwards, the two of them lay cuddling, warm and safe from the elements in their sleeping bag.

Leonard turned to give Jim a long, lingering kiss on the mouth before the two of them lay back, watching the stars shine above them.

All those planets searching for the perfect gift, and all this time it was right here on Earth.


	6. Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bruce and Jason's first valentine's day (HOWEVER U WANT TO INTERPRET THAT) cries :')))))
> 
> Prompt: BruJay, Jason gives Bruce chocolate bullets.

"I still can't believe you actually invited me," Jason drawled, propping his feet up on the coffee table, boots and all.  The fact that he had worn the clunky things along with the suit and tie hadn't even raised Bruce's eyebrows, and the feet on the table wasn't doing it either.

Hmmm.

"Well, I'm fairly certain that it's the typical next step in the relationship.  I mean, we might be moving a bit fast from the 'sex' to the 'having dinner with each other,' but—"

Jason reached out to swat at Bruce halfheartedly, but smirked when he sat down on the couch.  There were few people who Jason allowed to share couches with him, but at this point Bruce had earned the privilege.

"Shush, you," Jason groused playfully, grabbing the front of Bruce's shirt and yanking him in for a kiss.  He couldn't wait to mess up the tie, the shirt, the hair, the _everything_ , and have the oh-so-composed Bruce Wayne gasping underneath him with Jason's thighs around his hips.  Or above him.  Or in front of him.  Or all three and more.  Jason wasn't feeling picky.

He could feel Bruce smirk against his lips before pulling back.  Jay pouted at him for a moment, but only until he pulled out a box.

Jason's initial response was dread mixed with panic.  _Oh fuck no please no if it's a ring I swear to god—_

But almost immediately Jason could see that the box was too large to be a ring, and time seemed to resume its normal pace again.  Jason took a deep breath, trying to look as if he _hadn't_ been considering launching through the window and running, and focused on Bruce's smirk instead.

"I got something for you."

"I can see that.  I hope it's chocolate."

"Well, actually."

Jason glanced down as Bruce opened the box to see a few dozen or so chocolate bullets, all aligned in straight rows on black silk.

"Bruce.  You shouldn't have."  Jason chuckled, reaching out to pluck one from the box and take a bite out of it, perhaps using a bit more tongue than was necessary.  He didn't miss the way Bruce's eyes flicked from his hand to his face, and smirked again as he finished the rest of it.  He reached out for another, picking it up and holding it up to Bruce's lips.

"Try one?"

Bruce didn't respond, only opened his mouth and took a delicate bite out of half of the chocolate.  Jason's eyes swept admiringly across his jaw and throat as the muscles worked and Bruce chewed.

And swallowed.

And choked.

Jason was up in an instant, thinking that there was some kind of poison or glass or a million other potentially deadly substances, until Bruce, between coughs, managed to gasp out, " _Hot!_ "

Jason couldn't seem to comprehend the words.  "What?"

"Spicy…!"  Bruce coughed some more, then began to inhale quickly, taking deep breaths.  "Hot!  Get me—!"

But Jason was already sprinting to the kitchen, snatching the gallon of milk, and running back to Bruce, shoving it into his hands.  Bruce unscrewed the top, then (in _direct_ violation of the many scoldings he had given Jason, both before and after his death) guzzled the milk directly from the carton.

It was a few moments before Bruce could speak again.

"What… in the _world_ …"

"Hey, you're the one who bought the chocolate.  And the piece I had was perfectly fine."

"I don't… but…"

"Do you have the original package?"

"Garbage… in the kitchen."

Jason put the milk away first, then went to the garbage, picking up the packaging that was laying directly on top.  After staring at it for a moment, he burst out laughing.

"You!"  He managed to get out between the laughter.  "Bruce!  Did you even look at what you were buying!"  He collapsed onto the couch, doubling over as he handed him the package.  "It's _Russian Roulette_ chocolate, you idiot! World's greatest detective, my ass!"

"What are you…"

"They have _chili_ in them.  Some of the chocolates.  You had, what, three packages of them?  So there are a few of them in there with _chili._ "  Jason picked up the half-eaten chocolate bullet that had caused Bruce so much distress and nibbled on it, then inhaled quickly.  "Damn.  That _is_ hot."

Bruce shot him a reproachful look, and Jason just laughed again.  The composure broken even before Jason had gotten either of them out of their pants.  That had to be a record.

"Aw, B."  Jason slid over, perching on his lap and leaned in to give him a kiss.  He could taste the lingering heat in his mouth, and not from passion.  "Don't pout.  Can think of plenty of things you can put in there to distract you."

"Jason, are you _really_ —"

"Mmmm."  Jason's kiss cut him off.  "Shhh," he whispered against Bruce's lips, before kissing him again, long enough that Bruce relaxed slightly and began to slide his hands around Jason's waist.  After a few more moments, he broke the kiss, sliding from his perch on Bruce's lap to full-on straddling, grabbing Bruce's tie and yanking him forward to rest their foreheads together.  "No matter how many insidious spicy chocolates might attempt to get in our way," he began, with mock solemnity, managing only through sheer willpower not to smirk again, "I'm here to make _absolutely sure_ our first Valentine's is perfect."  And naked.

Jason counted it a great personal victory that, instead of replying, Bruce just yanked him down for another kiss.


	7. Billy Kaplan/Tommy Shepherd/Teddy Altman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: so if you were to write the OT3 in question i guess a good theme could be somthing involving a concert??
> 
> Prompt: B/T/T Their first valentines day together as a triangle :D
> 
> Prompt: B/T/T, Tommy getting nervous because he decided to tell Billy and Teddy that he loved them for the first time this valentines day

"That was… that was _amazing,_ " Tommy said between laughter, unable to hold back his grin as the three of them stumbled in through the door, half-drunk on nothing more than laughter.  "I've never _been_ to a concert.  Had no idea they could be so…"

"Fun?" Billy finished with a smirk before pressing an enthusiastic kiss to Tommy's temple.  "And you said you didn't _like_ Fall Out Boy."

"Everyone likes Fall Out Boy," Teddy cut in amiably with a fond smile at the two of them.  "It's pretty much a law."

"Okay, okay!  So I now know that I like Fall Out Boy!  God, rub it in, why don't you?"  Tommy cast the two of them a despondent look.  "What's next, I told you so?"

"Well, actually—"

"Shush."  Billy cut Teddy off with a swat and leaned in to kiss Tommy, this time on the lips.  Before he had pulled away, he was dragging Tommy over to the couch, flopping down and tugging Tommy next to him, half on his lap and half off.  Tommy leaned back onto Billy's chest, getting comfortable, but this was made next to impossible when Teddy flopped down as well, leaning onto the both of them and stretching out.

"Oof!  _Teddy!_ "  "Hey, get off, you asshole!"  "Cut it out!"  "What's your problem?"

Teddy just laughed at the twins' struggles and protests, settling in on top of them until he was comfortable and they had quieted, resigned, and gone still.

"If we're dead I'm pretty sure Mrs. Kaplan's gonna kill you."

"I'm pretty sure she's going to kill _you_ for having your shoes on the couch."

Teddy laughed as Tommy squirmed, trying to get his shoes off, before finally taking pity on him, yanking them off and tossing them in the direction of the door.

"You get to pick those up later," Tommy groused.

He could hear Billy laugh behind him—though really it was more feeling, a huff, an exhalation of air—and slowly relaxed as Billy ran his fingers through Tommy's soft, white hair.

Tommy spoke up after a little while.

"So this was… aValentine'sdateright?"  He regretted the question the moment it flew out of his mouth, realizing exactly how stupid it had sounded.

"Yes, Tommy."  Billy's tone was fondly exasperated.  "We've been seeing each other for months.  That kind of means you can call them dates now."

"Right."  Tommy was aware of the "months" part—it had been seven months, two weeks, and four days, actually, since they had officially become a threeway, actually.  And it had been a while.  Long enough, right?

Tommy opened his mouth, mind racing as he tried to figure out exactly how he was going to verbalize it.  And it had to be today—Valentine's, right?

"Hey, uh, guys."

"Mmm?"

They always did that, seemed to be in perfect synchronization with each other, something Tommy was fairly certain he would _never_ manage.  Still, there were some things he knew he should be able to do.  And after all, they said it to each other all the time, right?  So he should be able to.  No big deal.

"I, uh… I got something to tell you guys."

"Yeah?" came Billy's voice from behind him.  "What—Tommy, is there something wrong?"

"No!  No, notthatit'sjust…"  He took a deep breath, then swallowed, clenching his fists to keep them from shaking.  Great, he had them concerned now.  "Uh, just, y'know.  It's Valentine's day.  And all.  And I mean, I—I care about you guys a lot, and I just wanted…"

The silence stretched on for a few moments, and Tommy knew that he wasn't the only one who felt it excruciatingly slowly.  How could three fucking words be this hard to say?

"Just wanted to let you guys know—"

"Tommy."

Teddy's voice cut him off right as he thought he might be able to get it out.  God _damn_ it.

"You don't have to say anything you're not comfortable saying.  Really."

"But—"  He hadn't ever said it, not to them.  Didn't it get on their _nerves?_

Billy smacked the back of Tommy's head gently.  "We mean it.  Seriously.  It's not like we don't…"  Tommy could see Teddy's half of the look that the two of them exchanged, the assholes.  "We don’t know that forcing things is a bad idea.  You don't have to say something because of a holiday."

"Are you guys sure?"

" _Yes_ , Tommy."

"'Kay, then."  Tommy sighed and rested his head again on Billy's chest.  "But seriously, it's no big deal to tell you that I got your comic collection out of order."

This time, when Billy smacked the back of his head, Tommy just grinned.


End file.
